


The Emperor

by unkissed



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: BDSM, Bottom Kylo Ren, Daddy Issues, Dark, Dark fic, Dom Hux, Dom/sub, Domestic Kink, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Kylux - Freeform, Kyluxma, M/M, Master & Servant, Master/Servant, Master/Slave, Polyamory, Post TFA, Punishment, Sexual Violence, Spanking, Sub Ren, The Dark Side of the Force, Top Hux, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 18:53:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5754451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unkissed/pseuds/unkissed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kylo Ren is a punk bitch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Emperor

**Author's Note:**

> This story is much darker than the summary suggests. You might recognize that line ("Kylo Ren is a punk bitch") from the Undercover Boss skit on Saturday Night Live. This has nothing to do with that skit, other than the fact that Kylo Ren is indeed a punk bitch in the bedroom. 
> 
> The events in this story take place after TFA, obviously non-canon, since it was written a month after the release of said movie.

 

“The Emperor”

 

 

The Emperor takes two lumps of sugar in his tea, allowed to dissipate at the bottom of the cup without being stirred. He likes it scalding hot and so strong it could almost pass for coffee. He never cools it with milk before taking his first sip.

 

Kylo has done it all wrong again and is paying for it.

 

It is morning. Kylo is naked, kneeling on the floor beside a chair, and draped over The Emperor’s lap, which must be quite a sight in itself, considering Kylo is taller and more built. Certainly, Kylo never imagined he’d submit to anyone, let alone somebody physically smaller.

 

The Emperor is pulling on his black, reptilian skin gloves, which make a distinct crunchy squelching sound when the material bends and stretches. This sound alone makes Kylo’s cock twitch, and he dearly hopes The Emperor can’t feel his growing erection pressed against the leg of his tailored wool suit, for there will be hell to pay for that infraction as well.

 

A gloved hand comes down hard on Kylo’s arse with a resounding smack. The thick stitching on the gloves, as well as the scutes of the animal hide where reptilian scales had once been, bite his sensitive flesh. It stings so sweetly that Kylo has to bite his bottom lip to keep from moaning.

 

Kylo must always count his lashings. “One… Thank you, my Emperor. Another one, please, my Emperor.” He tries to sound so polite and in control of his emotions, but the pain and the anxious desire is evident in his voice.

 

The Emperor informs him that the first spank was punishment for the weak tea, and that the next will be for the milk cup needlessly brought with the tea tray. He tells Kylo that he should be thankful he did not make the mistake of actually pouring the milk into the tea. The second spank comes quickly with no warning, no time for Kylo to brace himself. He cries out in both pain and shock. But he loves it. Kylo Ren fucking _loves_ being spanked, and The Emperor knows this.

 

The Emperor also knows that, despite the fact that Kylo loves being spanked, it is still an effective discipline tool because Kylo _wants_ to be punished. He hasn’t just been a naughty boy; he’s done horrible things for which he has never had to pay retributions. Kylo feels that no penance could ever be great enough to absolve him from his sins, nor free him from his torturous guilt. But The Emperor certainly gives him the illusion that he’s paying for it.

 

~//~

 

The third, fourth, and fifth spank are for Kylo’s mistake with the sugar and have him tensing from the pain blossoming across his arse, likely rendering his pale skin a ruddy shade. His body is desperate for some measure of pleasure to counteract the pain. He’s fully erect now, and subtly rubbing himself against The Emperor’s leg as he heaves and pants in blissful agony. Kylo wonders how The Emperor even knows he mistakenly stirred three lumps of sugar into his tea instead of allowing two to dissolve on their own at the bottom of the cup. He doesn’t have to ask. The Emperor always seems to know what Kylo is thinking and feeling before Kylo himself can make sense of it. The fact that The Emperor can do this without the benefit of The Force is testament to how close they’ve become, how far back they go.

 

“Do you know how I know, boy?” he asks, not expecting an answer as he removes his gloves.

 

He sets the gloves neatly on Kylo’s back. The warmth of the animal hide on his skin makes him shiver with anticipation. Kylo knows what comes next. He hates it more than he loves it. He only loves it because, when he’s allowed to, this part makes him come so hard that he usually finds himself weak in the knees after.

 

The Emperor continues, speaking in that maddeningly calm, condescending voice, edged with so much superiority that Kylo has to swallow his desire to punch The Emperor in his beautiful face. “I know because when I took my first sip, it was tepid at best, and tasted sickeningly sweet… Like Phasma’s pussy when I had allowed her to eat only summer fruit for a fortnight.” To this, he adds a reminiscent chuckle, and Kylo bristles with jealousy.

 

When The Emperor laughs, there is always something dark ringing in his otherwise emotionless tone. It’s enough to make one shake with anxiousness – Kylo knows that The Emperor’s power over him lies in his ability to bring out the darkness within him. His power has nothing to do with fear. The darkness in The Emperor’s laugh is like a knowing smirk. He can see inside Kylo and scrutinize every one of his insecurities and unlock his secret, shameful desires. He can unleash all the ugliness inside Kylo and turn it into power.

 

 

Kylo cannot fully access nor control The Force without The Emperor to compel him, to inspire him, to provoke him. He needs The Emperor to help him tap into the darkest reaches of The Force. For nobody else, not even Supreme Leader Snoke, had ever been able to make him feel pain, anger, and jealousy the way The Emperor can.

 

The Emperor is just as indebted to Kylo as Kylo is indebted to him, for neither would be at the helm of The Empire if it were not for the other. Snoke had been right – it had to be the triumvirate to restore Imperial rule to the galaxy. It had little to do with politics and strategy, and everything to do with the Force-driven symbiosis between Ren, Hux, and Phasma – each feeding off the power of the other, and fortifying it in turn.

 

 

Kylo wants to please The Emperor so badly that to doubt himself is one of the most frightening things of all. He fears disappointing The Emperor more than he fears The Emperor’s animal-hide-gloved hands or his leather flogger. Being the subject of The Emperor’s displeasure is more agonizing than nipple clamps or the sting of a riding crop. When The Emperor is disappointed in Kylo, it fills him with more self-loathing than anything he felt after losing his family.

 

Kylo feels so sick with remorse that he could vomit. He is so angry at his failures that he’s nearly in tears. The Emperor understands that Kylo is not only feeling sorry for a poor job of setting out tea. He knows that it somehow goes beyond tea. The Emperor is reaching deep into Kylo and extracting the sorrow of every sin Kylo has ever committed, from his days as a Jedi Padawan, to his wrath as Master of the Knights of Ren, to his failures as a son. The Emperor is making him repent for every sin, not just these petty infractions surrounding tea. Kylo is only beginning to understand this, and it makes him all the more indebted to The Emperor.

 

“Stupid, stupid boy,” The Emperor spits quietly, shaking his head – though Kylo can’t see it, he knows The Emperor is doing it. He can feel The Emperor’s eyes on him, burning with repulsion. “You thought I wouldn’t figure it out? You thought you could get away with it? And when I _did_ find out, you honestly thought I wouldn’t care?”

 

Kylo mutters, devoid of emotion, “It will never happen again, my Emperor. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

 

The Emperor’s hand is now smoothing along his back, from Kylo’s shoulder to his burning arse cheeks. Kylo feels unworthy of such a soft, soothing caress. It makes him hate himself even more. The Emperor continues – disappointment and hurt tinge his voice. “You were selfish. You only thought of yourself. You never stopped to think about how this would make _me_ feel.”

 

Kylo pleads, more with annoyance than remorse, “I’m sorry, my Emperor. Truly, I am. Please forgive me.”

 

“Do you feel you deserve my forgiveness? Have you paid for your sins with pain?” The Emperor asks, truly inquiring his dutiful knight.

 

“No, my Emperor.” Kylo answers, barely audibly. “I’m so undeserving of you. Please punish me.”

 

Kylo knows The Emperor has an amused smirk on his face from the sound of his sensual drawl. “So four strikes are not enough for you, boy? You dirty pain-slut.”

 

The Emperor picks up his gloves and gently, but unkindly, shoves Kylo off of his lap, leaving him to grovel on the floor. He bends down to hook a finger in the ring at Kylo’s throat, attached to the collar, and yanks him to a standing position. The Emperor has to tilt his head back slightly to meet Kylo’s eyes, but his stare manages to make Kylo feel infinitesimal. “Go to your domicile,” he commands. The Emperor glances down and furrows his brow with a disgusted snort. “And do learn to control your cock, boy. Honestly.”

 

 

~//~

 

Kylo’s walk to his special room in The Emperor’s suite within the Imperial Palace is terribly painful. The marble floors in the corridors are ice cold on his bare feet, and his achingly hard cock bounces as he rushes on tip-toe.

 

Nobody is permitted inside The Emperor’s suite of rooms other than The Emperor himself, service droids, Kylo, and Phasma. All Imperial guards are stationed outside. Which means the three of them are free to play in deviant ways without the judging eyes of others.

 

Kylo nearly collides with Phasma in the foyer. She’s sweeping broken glass off the floor – remnants of champagne flutes from last night’s debauched soiree, as evident by the puddle on the marble and the few glasses that managed to stay mostly intact. There are also specks of blood amidst the glass.

 

“Where are you going?” she asks indignantly, as if he has no right to be there.

 

Kylo notices that there is shattered glass stuck to her blond hair, as well as her back, which bears tiny abrasions. Her satin bodice is wet in the back. It is as if she’d been lying on the floor in the mess of dropped champagne glasses. Kylo wonders if The Emperor commanded her to do so.

 

Kylo can’t help but grin smugly when he answers, carefully annunciating each word, “To my room.”

 

“That’s the third time this week,” she points out bitterly.

 

Kylo smirks and shrugs, not trying very hard to hide how proud he is of him self. “Fourth, actually.”

 

Phasma pouts angrily. “Don’t get used to it. Once the novelty wears off, The Emperor won’t want to fuck you.”

 

“We’re not here to be fucked,” drawls Kylo, reminding Phasma that this game that they play of master-and-slave, reducing them to the basest of servants, has a purpose, other than The Emperor’s amusement.

 

Phasma huffs haughtily with her nose in the air, “You can’t give him everything he wants.”

 

“No,” says Kylo as he continues on his way, carefully dodging the broken glass, “I can give him more.”

 

 

Kylo leaves his ambition and arrogance at the door to his room before entering. It’s a nice little room, tastefully decorated, with dark silver window treatments, elegantly patterned blue wallpaper, and a princely four-poster bed in the middle of the room – quite unlike his own austere private residence within the Imperial compound, both in size and decor.

 

There are chains on each bedpost to which Kylo may be attached at the collar, wrists, or ankles. There isn’t much in the armoire; just spare clothes and custom-made leather cuffs for various purposes. Kylo puts the cuffs around his wrists and ankles. He’s still getting used to them and has trouble buckling them himself.

 

Kylo lays down on his front, sprawled on top of his satin bedspread, arms limp at his sides, and waits for The Emperor to come. He’s so tired that he’s starting to fall asleep.

 

He doesn’t realize that he has drifted off until the sharp smack of a riding crop whips across his bottom and awakes him. “No rest for the wicked, boy,” drawls The Emperor.

 

Kylo mutters, “But I wasn’t--”

 

The Emperor shuts him up with another strike of his riding crop. “No excuses. One must own up to their mistakes or they will never be forgiven.”

 

“I’m sorry, my Emperor. It was terribly rude of me. I shouldn’t have fallen asleep. Please forgive me?” Kylo’s sarcasm is thinly veiled.

 

The Emperor leans down and threads his fingers into Kylo’s hair, “I hope you enjoyed your fancy party last night, boy. Perhaps you enjoyed it _too_ much, hm?” He tugs hard on Kylo’s hair, causing him to whimper. “You’ve made a lot of mistakes this morning.” He pulls Kylo’s head back so that he can whisper against Kylo’s cheek. “You will be punished accordingly.” The Emperor’s breath is warm and sweet. The brush of his soft lips on his skin makes him shiver. The shiver travels all the way down his body and makes him hard again.

 

The Emperor attaches the chains from the bedposts at the head of the bed to the rings on Kylo’s wrist cuffs and pulls his arms straight above Kylo’s head. There is a set of short chains at the foot of the bed. He hooks these to the rings on Kylo’s ankle cuffs and pulls, causing his legs to spread apart. This is not the most painful position The Emperor has put Kylo in, but it is still very uncomfortable, especially if he has to stay like this for a while.

 

Kylo can turn his head from side to side, but cannot see what The Emperor is doing when he stands outside his peripheral vision. He can hear _everything_ – the delicious sound of The Emperor’s gloves stretching as he pulls them on, the click of The Emperor’s polished shoes along the hardwood floor, the creak of the floorboards beneath The Emperor’s feet.

 

Suddenly, everything goes black, and the air becomes thick. Kylo panics for a second before realizing that The Emperor has taken off his regal, crimson colored cloak and has thrown it over Kylo’s face. He breathes slowly, forcing thoughts of suffocation from his mind – rationally, he can still breathe with the cloak over his head, and he should be used to wearing a restrictive mask anyway.

 

The smell of The Emperor surrounds him. It is like intimacy without touching. He can smell The Emperor’s cologne – the refined scent of a custom-made fragrance that exudes power, wealth, and sex. He can smell the lingering cigarette smoke on the fine fabric. He can smell the hint of The Emperor’s sweat, and he breathes this in hungrily, letting The Emperor’s pheromones enter his body and elicit desire.

 

Kylo is grinding softly into the cool, silky bedspread. It feels marvelous as his cock glides against it.

 

The Emperor snorts with amusement. “You little slut. I’ve barely touched you.”

 

The cloak muffles Kylo’s quiet moan. “I’m _your_ slut.”

 

The length of the riding crop comes down hard across Kylo’s shoulder blades without warning, causing Kylo to cry out in pain.

 

“What was that, boy?” The Emperor asks, without any hint of offense in his voice, “Are you mumbling insults under your breath, you insolent bitch?”

 

Kylo speaks clearly and loudly, “I said, I’m _your_ slut, my Emperor.”

 

The Emperor grasps Kylo’s arse possessively and nips the back of his shoulder. “ _Mine_ ,” he growls, reaffirming Kylo’s statement.

 

It feels wonderful to belong to somebody again, to be owned so utterly by another man. Though he has relinquished control to this man, Kylo feels safe. Whenever The Emperor reasserts his claim over Kylo’s body in some way, his body responds in kind. He wants to give The Emperor everything.

 

“Fuck...,” Kylo moans quietly, thrusting gently against the bed.

 

“If you have something important to say, say it so that I can hear you. Otherwise, shut up, boy.” The Emperor rarely has to raise his voice to reprimand Kylo. He has tools that speak louder than words. The riding crop smacks across Kylo’s back again. It stings worse than the others, now that Kylo’s skin is flushed with desire and his nerves are primed for pleasure.

 

The leather whip at the end of the riding crop makes a pretty sound when applied in quick succession to the fleshiest part of Kylo’s bottom. It’s like the carnal sound of two bodies smacking together – the primal sound of loveless sex. The way that Kylo is moaning when the whip slaps against his flesh certainly would give one the impression that he was being fucked. His hips behave the same way when the leather comes in contact with his skin – he thrusts forward reflexively to get away from the source of pain, but also to grind his cock into the mattress.

 

It’s a strange dance between pleasure and pain. Each strike upon Kylo’s body ravages his nerves, pulls a cry from his lips, and draws tears from his eyes. Each strike reaches deeper than the surface of reddened flesh. When The Emperor strikes him, he delves into Kylo’s soul and extracts his guilt, his sorrow, his remorse. So when The Emperor elicits physical pain, Kylo’s soul feels pain as well. To release this pain is cleansing. It is euphoric - Kylo feels it in The Force and in his body. And this is why Kylo craves punishment, why he derives pleasure from pain.

 

After being beat repeatedly until his skin is red and raw, decorated with welts and stripes, Kylo’s mind begins to wander. There is only so much pain one can take before they fade and retreat to another place within themselves to escape. The thinning air beneath the cloak also does not help to keep Kylo conscious. The Emperor recognizes that Kylo’s fading. He pulls the cloak off Kylo’s face. The cool air on his perspiring brow is such a relief, as is the new air entering his lungs to replace the recycled, stagnant air.

 

Breathlessly, Kylo says, “Thank you, my Emperor.”

 

The Emperor chuckles darkly. “You’re very welcome, boy, but I am not nearly done with you.”

 

~//~

 

Kylo doesn’t know how much more he can take. His skin is screaming on fire. His muscles are sore from being stretched into this position for too long. But Kylo knows that he cannot achieve repentance until he has suffered thoroughly. He doesn’t beg for mercy. He begs for more.

 

“Punish me, my Emperor. Please. I’ve been terribly naughty,” Kylo pleads between panting breaths.

 

The bed creaks as The Emperor climbs up from the foot of the bed. He kneels behind Kylo, between his legs, and caresses the burning skin stretched over the swell of his arse. The rough reptilian gloves scour his raw flesh as The Emperor’s hands trace over the intricate, red, crisscrossing patterns. A gentle touch never hurt so much before. “You will receive ten spankings and you will count out each one and thank me, boy. Understand?”

 

Kylo nods. “Yes, my Emperor. Thank you, my Emperor.”

 

The Emperor’s hand is gliding slowly up Kylo’s back, scratching his abused skin along the way. It’s agony. He whispers reverently, “So beautiful…”

 

Kylo melts.

 

Kylo knows The Emperor has probably said the same thing to Phasma and to his playthings. Kylo understands that he is likely not more beautiful than anyone else in The Emperor’s eyes. But The Emperor certainly makes Kylo feel adored.

 

“Was he beautiful like you, Kylo?” When The Emperor uses his given name, Kylo knows that he’s about to have his heart ripped out. He hates it. But he needs it.

 

The pain of remembering his father is worse than the sting radiating over every inch of ravaged skin. It is the pain of cold fingers tightening around his heart. Kylo can hardly breathe. He closes his eyes and he remembers.

 

“ _He_ thought so,” he says distantly.

 

The Emperor’s hand smacks his arse hard. Kylo counts the first strike and thanks The Emperor. The Emperor commands him softly as his gloved hand traces the curve of Kylo’s arse. “Describe him to me. I want to see him as you once did.”

 

Han Solo’s face is emblazoned on Kylo’s mind. He will never forget. “His eyes were dark. Bright like obsidian. Deep like the universe.”

 

The second strike comes fast and hard.

 

“He had a prominent chin. Some say I inherited mine from him.”

 

The third strike is no different.

 

“His grin…” Kylo takes in a slow breath to brace himself for the pain, but also to keep himself from sobbing. “He had this crooked grin. Like he had stories to tell. Adventures to recount.”

 

The fourth strike seems to sting harder. The pain radiates along Kylo’s spine. Or perhaps it’s just the memory of his father that hurts.

 

“And when he would show me that crooked grin, when I was a small child, he would make me believe I could go on those adventures with him. Run amok in the galaxy, no rules, taking what we want, doing whatever we pleased.”

 

The fifth strike has Kylo practically hallucinating. He can almost see his father in that intergalactic pirate fantasy.

 

“But he never did take me with him. He sent me away. I could count the number of times I saw him in my life on both hands.” Kylo’s bitterness and anger begin to seep to the surface, and The Emperor knows this.

 

The Emperor’s hand remains on Kylo’s arse after the sixth strike. He strokes along Kylo’s spine. It feels like a snake creeping up his back. He slowly closes his fingers around the back of Kylo’s hair, like a constrictor coiling around its prey. Kylo loves the sound the gloves make when the reptilian skin stretches at The Emperor’s knuckles. Quietly, The Emperor asks, “And his hair? Was your father’s hair beautiful like yours?”

 

Kylo can’t help but chuckle quietly. “No, actually. It was dull brown, and messy.”

 

The Emperor yanks Kylo’s hair and delivers the seventh spank before relinquishing his hold. Kylo hears The Emperor peel off the gloves and swallows hard with anticipation. He hears the unmistakable sound of The Emperor’s zipper opening.

 

“Tell me, boy, did you think of his deep, dark eyes and his prominent chin,” The Emperor is speaking in that maddeningly condescending voice as he’s preparing himself. Kylo hears a wet sound and knows what’s coming. “…and his crooked grin, and adventures in space…” The Emperor leans forward and slowly rubs his cock between the furrow of Kylo’s arse. “…when you thrust your lightsaber through his chest?”

 

Kylo’s heart is racing. His breaths are coming shallow and fast. “No my Emperor, I did not,” Kylo confesses.

 

The eighth spank is wet with oily lubricant and makes an entirely different delicious sound on Kylo’s arse. He feels The Emperor’s cock teasing at his entrance. His hole hasn’t been prepared for this. The Emperor never affords him that courtesy.

 

“Of course you didn’t.   You are stronger than that. You were one with the dark side of The Force, and you did not let sentimentality over your father weaken you,” The Emperor says, proud of Kylo. It’s enough to make Kylo’s heart swell.

 

“I want you to close your eyes and think of your father when I fuck you.”

 

Kylo’s eyes go wide with horror, disgust, and alarm. When The Emperor enters him, the tight muscles of his arsehole burn as he’s wrenched open mercilessly.

 

“I want you to see his face in your mind. See his heart breaking all over again. See the betrayal shining in his eyes.”

 

Kylo is crying out in pain - In every sort of pain imaginable.

 

The Emperor’s slicked cock is tearing into him ruthlessly when the ninth and tenth spanks are delivered. The pain is radiating from his arsehole all the way up his spine. Kylo isn’t used to being fucked at all, let alone being fucked so hard without prior preparation.

 

The Emperor grabs his hair again. He pounds into him fast and hard, but the sound of flesh meeting flesh is absent. The Emperor never removes his clothes. He yanks Kylo’s hair with each brutal thrust. “I want you to feel his pain. Feel it in every inch of your body, deep down to the depths of your soul.”

 

Kylo feels it. He wants to die.

 

To relive that moment, naked and vulnerable before The Emperor, is like reliving a nightmare. Kylo relives that pain, a pain akin to a knife twisting in his gut, every time he goes through this exercise with The Emperor.

 

But it is necessary.

 

Kylo Ren needs this. He needs his Emperor. He is devoted to his Emperor.

 

 

~//~

 

Later, as they do nearly every night, Kylo and Phasma curl themselves around either side Emperor Hux’s naked body, thoroughly fucked and exhausted.

 

Kylo whispers in the Emperor’s ear, “Thank you, Brendol. For helping me earlier. I really needed that.”

 

The Emperor rolls on his side to face Kylo, away from Phasma’s sleeping form. His silver-blue eyes pierce through Kylo’s soul and wrench it to the surface once again. “You are so strong, Kylo,” he whispers, caressing the side of Kylo’s face with the back of his hand, “So much stronger than I will ever be.”

 

“Perhaps.” Kylo’s brow furrows deeply. Self-doubt threatens to pull tears from his eyes. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

 

The Emperor presses his lips to Kylo’s. He tastes of copper, wine, and Manifest Destiny. “I believe in you.”

 

Kylo searches for his resolve, desperately grasping at threads like a drowning man. The Emperor senses his reservations. He gently takes Kylo’s face between his hands and whispers against his mouth, “I love you.”

 

“I know,” says Kylo, softly, absent of arrogance.

 

They kiss hard, drawing blood from Kylo’s bottom lip.

 

The Emperor will never know how much his love empowers Kylo. The Emperor believes that only darkness can strengthen The Force within Kylo.

 

Kylo will never tell The Emperor that he loves him too. He doesn’t need to. His actions will speak for him.

 

The Emperor slips out of bed, leaving Kylo alone with Phasma.

 

Kylo moves close to her and presses himself into her back. He isn’t hard, but he’s endowed well enough that the mere mass of his cock against her rouses her from sleep.

 

She mutters wearily, “Not now, Ky. I’ve had enough.”

 

He hisses behind her ear, “He’ll never be enough for you. You’ll always want more of him.” He reads her feelings and recites them to her with an accusatory tone. “You won’t rest until he makes you his Empress.” The arm that is draped around her waist tightens. He feels his cock rousing as anger bubbles up from within.

 

Phasma purrs sleepily, “I would look good in a crown. Tired of wearing the armor.”

 

“I feel your ambitions,” says Kylo, nudging himself between her thighs.

 

“I feel your prick,” she chuckles, and reaches behind to rest a hand on the back of Kylo’s head. She heaves a long, resigned sigh, “I suppose you can fuck me, you needy little thing.”

 

Kylo reaches out a hand into the darkness. A dagger flies across the room to sit firmly in his palm. He brings the blade across Phasma’s throat, and her hot blood pours from the precise cut. He feels her shock and her horror. He feels her betrayal and her anguish. He feels her life draining quickly from her body. He feels her going limp against him.

 

He whispers directly into her mind in the seconds before she slips away, “ _The Emperor is mine. To love. To kill. To overthrow._ ”

 

This is Kylo Ren’s destiny – to bring an end to tyranny in the galaxy. And not even love can keep him from fulfilling that destiny.

 

For he alone brings balance to The Force – both The Light and The Dark embodied in one person.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I have a confession. I originally started writing this fic as a Draco/OMC/OFC story a while ago. But I rewrote it and completed it as a Kylo/Hux/Phasma because it fit so well with these characters. In the original Harry Potter-verse fic, Draco doesn't have daddy issues, he has ex boyfriend issues (Theodore Nott) that he hashes out with a hired Dom. I could not resist making Hux a Dominant top, and a sexy emperor, at that. I am in love with the notion of Emperor Hux and will probably explore this in the future.


End file.
